


It Will Rain

by fortythousandth



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Established OT3, F/F, Multi, Outer Senshi Sandwich, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortythousandth/pseuds/fortythousandth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'The sea is stormy' isn't always a metaphor for danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created from a prompt out of nowhere on Tumblr. It features Michiru/Setsuna, Michiru/Haruka, and Haruka/Michiru/Setsuna, so if that’s not your cup of tea, take note. For the sake of this story, the OT3 is already in an established relationship by the time we begin.

The white-capped waves break against the shore, combining with the already overcast skies to send a clear signal that poor weather is on its way.

Michiru doesn’t mind. She’s never minded the rain, and certainly has never minded watching the sea shift and change, in color and in passion, as a storm rages on. The ocean is fierce, unbridled, the sort of thing that sends a thrill up Michiru’s spine whenever she gets to simply sit back and watch.

Her element—in its element—always stirs her own passion, and she takes a deep breath of the humid air, so damp that Michiru feels that were she to make a fist, she could wring the spare water out of the breeze. As whispers of rain begin gently tapping against the sand, Michiru closes her eyes and shivers, the raindrops tapping in time to her own heartbeat as she allows herself to become lost in the first whispers of a daydream.

Michiru is startled, but not surprised, when a warm, steady hand covers her own. “The sea is stormy,” Setsuna murmurs in her ear.

Michiru inhales sharply as Setsuna trails her lips down Michiru’s jawline, and turns her head to meet Setsuna’s lips with her own. “Do you sense an enemy?” she asks, reluctant to leave such a promising position.

“Not at all—I saw the storm outside,” Setsuna says, a bit breathlessly, and while Michiru’s expression is carefully controlled, she still isn’t completely over the rush of pleasure she gets every time she manages to fluster the Time Guardian herself.

Michiru cups the side of Setsuna’s face and pulls her in for another kiss, slow and languid. The rain picks up outside, slanting against the window as Michiru tugs Setsuna down onto the windowseat, half on top of her. Michiru’s hips twitch up almost distressingly easily—but then again, it  _is_  a stormy day; she should have seen this coming. “Did you have anything better in mind than simply watching the storm with me?” she asks. The question is all too obvious, but a bolt of lightning cracks across the sky, Setsuna’s knee has slipped between Michiru’s legs, and Michiru has to bite her lip to stop from crying out. It’s the best she can do under the circumstances. The rain positively bounces off the window, and Michiru fights with every ounce of self-control she has not to grind up against Setsuna, not to yank her down and kiss her until neither of them can even think, not to give herself over to her own ocean raging inside herself.

“Perhaps several things,” Setsuna replies, almost shyly, and then Michiru really can’t take it anymore—she pulls Setsuna to her, demandingly, and can’t resist allowing the slightest whine, smiling with satisfaction at the way that Setsuna shudders against her at the sound of it.

Setsuna handles her gently, but assuredly, every moment controlled.

Michiru has made it a personal goal to snap her out of that control whenever she can, and her hand slips downward.

Setsuna whimpers, whispering, “Should we move to the bedroom?”

Michiru steals a glance out the window, at the raging ocean, at the black sky, and can’t help but grin. “No. Let’s stay right here.”

* * *

 

It’s one thing when Setsuna does it.

And it’s not that Haruka isn’t capable of being poetic. Sometimes she’ll come out with almost painfully beautiful philosophical observations about the universe in one sentence, while in the next snapping back to discuss cars or what’s for dinner or whatever else happens to be on her mind at the time.

But…

Michiru was performing a piece with the Tokyo Symphony, the sort of thing that was usually a great honor

However, the particular day’s rehearsal had been nearly unbearable—not just full of stopping and starting, but also with the substance of the conductor’s attention devoted away from the string section, so Michiru had very little to do but daydream. And daydream. And daydream…

She feels as if she herself as been tuned too tightly by the time she walks through the door, buzzing and head tingling and in danger of snapping, and it’s then that Haruka all but shoves her up the door. “Welcome home,” Haruka growls, and while the sentiment is almost never one that is usually growled, it still is exactly what Michiru needs.

She all but slams her mouth up against Haruka’s, throwing herself at her like the shameless schoolgirl she once was (or would’ve been for the great Haruka Tenoh, if Haruka had been anywhere near ready for something like that back then), only now, Haruka’s reciprocating, kissing her back just as desperately, one hand working its way beneath Michiru’s skirt and brushing against her underwear and god, Michiru needs this so badly she’s shaking.

Haruka’s breath hitches as she feels just how damp Michiru’s underwear is for her, already, and as she traces a slow, easy circle against her, Michiru latches onto her and grits her teeth, body clenching. “How did you even get through rehearsal?” Haruka murmurs.

Michiru reaches her own hand down to grab Haruka’s wrist and press her hand even harder up against her, harder, faster, anything she can think of to just get some sort of relief. “I thought of you the whole time,” she whispers, and it’s the truth, “I wanted to have you on me all day.”

“Fuck,” Haruka spits. The next thing she knows Michiru’s deposited on the edge of the kitchen table with Haruka on her knees in front of her, tugging aside Michiru’s expensive underwear without a single care for the delicate fabric—Michiru secretly loves when she does that—and dragging her tongue slowly, torturously, up Michiru’s opening, sliding around but not quite on her clit, wrenching a small, frustrated noise from Michiru, before dipping back down and slipping her tongue inside of her.

“Tease,” Michiru manages to gasp,

“Sorry,” Haruka chuckles, and places a solid kiss right on Michiru’s clit.

She barely controls her thrashing—definitely can’t control the way she cries out—and then Haruka’s finally getting to it, tongue working masterfully against her.

Michiru’s hands scrape against the wood tabletop, searching for something to grab onto. There’s no purchase on the wood so she just moans, thrusts her hips up and against Haruka’s face. Haruka gasps and slides her free hand under Michiru’s soft thigh, slipping what feels like two fingers inside of her with barely any resistance, and the rush of heat that springs up inside of her lets her know that it’s not going to take much longer.

Haruka, thankfully, is merciful—if anything, she speeds up toward the end, taking her even more roughly, more quickly, and then she’s careening over the edge, crying out, tangling her hand in Haruka’s hair and tugging her up for more, faster, and even when Haruka’s right here there’s still no such thing as having her too close.

Haruka allows only a cursory swipe of her sleeve across her face because she’s well aware by now that Michiru has this thing for tasting herself on Haruka, before pulling herself to her feet. She kisses Michiru, slipping her tongue inside her mouth, and Michiru accepts it with enthusiasm, wrapping her arms around her and drawing her in and yes. Yes, this is love, and this is what she’s been waiting for, not just all day. 

"That was fast," Haruka finally comments.

Michiru wants to be indignant, but she’s still all warm and languid and savoring her afterglow, and she just can’t muster the effort. “I told you, I’d been thinking of this all day,” she says.

Haruka presses a kiss to Michiru’s cheek. “The sea was really stormy today,” she says.

Michiru draws back and gives her a quizzical look, recalling, distantly, the faint mist of rain she’d noticed on her way home. “What?”

But Haruka just smirks at her. “Should we go to the bedroom?”

It’s a promising enough offer. Michiru files her befuddlement away for later and tugs Haruka up the stairs.

* * *

 

Several days later, Michiru strides into the living room. “The sea is stormy,” she announces gravely.

Haruka’s head snaps up with way more enthusiasm than, as far as Michiru is concerned, the situation warrants. “Really?” she says, grinning.

Setsuna, as usual, is a little more reserved, but she too has perked up, setting aside her magazine. “Is that so?”

Approximately thirty minutes later, the transformed Soldiers of the Outer Solar System have defeated a small horde of youma. The battle itself had been successful—not even a single injury and the enemy defeated swiftly and easily.

But as the last youma is vaporized, Sailor Uranus tosses a truly spectacular scowl in Sailor Pluto’s direction. “So the sea really  _was_  stormy?”

Pluto just sighs and shoots a strangely longing look in Neptune’s direction—which she jerks away as soon as she sees Neptune is watching.

Neptune adds this to her list of things to investigate further at a later date.

* * *

 

Said later date, however, comes sooner than expected.

Michiru’s spread wide open around Haruka’s cock, trying to maintain some semblance of control as Setsuna slips her hand down to rub her thumb against Michiru’s clit. She’s so wet that it’s hard for Setsuna to keep a solid rhythm, but even that’s devastatingly hot under the circumstances. She rolls her hips around Haruka’s cock as she rides her, gasps out as her cock moves even more deeply inside of her, remembers to catch Setsuna’s eyes as Haruka moans at the sensation and causes Setsuna to nearly collapse at the sudden vibration against her cunt.

Haruka moans again and twitches, and Michiru forces herself to slow her thrusts, even with every nerve in her body screaming out for more. Her voice comes out with much more authority than it has any right to, considering the circumstances: “You know you don’t get to come until you make Setsuna come first.”

The look on Setsuna’s face is priceless as Haruka redoubles her efforts. Even now, even after all of this time, there are still moments when Setsuna seems so cautious, so hesitant, so unsure of them and this thing that they have, and Michiru is more than happy to convince her: this is where Setsuna belongs. In this family, in this home, and, well, why not here in bed, straddling Haruka’s face?

Michiru settles back, barely moving at all, watching the show of Haruka eating Setsuna out. Setsuna’s gorgeous like this, unrestrained in a way that she never is elsewhere, with her face flushed and eyes dark. Half of the time, Setsuna barely seems human at all; it’s a heady sensation to watch her so vulnerable, so open.

When she’s not thrusting against Haruka, Michiru’s balance is much better, good enough for her to recall a particularly good discovery she’d made a few nights earlier and reach over and cup one of Setsuna’s breasts, rolling her nipple between her thumbnail and finger.

Setsuna cries out, then looks startled, like she can’t believe she’s just allowed herself to make such a noise, but Michiru’s not letting up, and the flush around Setsuna’s cheekbones is getting deeper, and Michiru can sense that she’s getting close, as Setsuna bites her lip and shifts up against Haruka’s mouth, even closer, even deeper, her thighs beginning to tremble, and Michiru knows. She bucks forward on Haruka again, without any warning, watching Setsuna as it hits her—the way she closes her eyes, gasps, twitching against Haruka—and then Haruka’s moaning too, getting loud, as Michiru moves against her in quick, choppy, merciless thrusts that she knows from experience Haruka can never resist, and that she herself can barely handle.

Her hand slips down to touch herself and she can tell by the way her whole body contracts at the touch that she’s close herself. Somewhere in the background she can feel Haruka come, and she knows it’s borderline uncomfortable for Haruka if she keeps going, but god, she doesn’t care, she needs it, she’s so close—

Michiru comes with a sharp cry, clenching around Haruka’s cock, wave after wave of sensation crashing against her as she slowly regains herself.

She opens her eyes—she’d barely noticed she closed them—and immediately locks her gaze with Setsuna, who’s watching her, deep garnet eyes warm and fond, the hint of a smile on her face. Michiru matches it with one of her own and gently slides off Haruka, followed by Setsuna.

Haruka’s nearly panting. Her face is wet with sweat and come and she’s fucked out past the edge of coherence, looking like she’s about to die, but in the best possible way.

Michiru reaches over and pushes back Haruka’s bangs, rewarding her with a deep kiss, tasting Setsuna all over her. “You did well.”

Setsuna lies down next to them, still watching. Michiru reaches over, slips her leg over Haruka’s, and takes Setsuna’s hand, resting them on Haruka’s chest. Haruka places her hand over theirs and sighs, stretching her thigh against Michiru’s leg. “You’re so wet,” Haruka murmurs, and then, all of a sudden, it hits Michiru.

The sea.

* * *

 

They’re at a senshi meeting a few days later. The Inners have gotten off topic and veered onto something about their school. On Michiru’s left, Haruka gazes out in the distance, looking to be on the verge of falling asleep. On Michiru’s right, Setsuna watches with a careful mask of neutrality, obviously plastered on to avoid hurting anyone’s feelings.

Michiru picks Setsuna first.

She leans over to Setsuna’s ear. Any observer would’ve figured them to be sharing a secret, or something else said in confidence. But quickly—too quickly for anyone to see—she slips her hand beneath Setsuna’s blouse and up against the warm skin of her lower abdomen, and tugs her closer with her other hand. Even Setsuna can’t help a small gasp. “Pluto,” Michiru murmurs, “Are you sensing a disturbance in the time stream?”

Michiru nearly laughs at how ridiculous this is—at how ridiculous all of them are—but at the same time, she’s overcome by a rush of affection for these two women who have somehow won their ways into her life, her bed, her heart.

She pulls back, leaving a very stunned Setsuna in her wake, and moves to Haruka next, tracing her fingertips against Haruka’s knee before dragging them up, all the way up, against the inseam of her jeans, up her inner thigh, close enough to feel Haruka’s heat. Haruka looks like she’s about to choke.

“What’s wrong, Uranus?” Michiru whispers, nipping at Haruka’s earlobe in the way that she knows Haruka has never been able to resist. She’s rewarded with a shiver, and continues, still tracing her fingertips against Haruka’s thigh, “Is the wind becoming agitated?”

Haruka gazes desperately at her, eyes wide, then looks past her to Setsuna.

“You’ve caught on?” Setsuna finally whispers.

Michiru can only smile, knowing that it’ll be at least several more hours before they can be alone, and knowing that there’s an almost endless list of things she can accomplish, involving the women on either side of her, in those several hours.

The sea would have its revenge after all.

 


End file.
